"Really, Tom, don't be absurd," Belle said. "Lantz shouldn't be shooting at the menthat's bad of himbut he's just trying to convince Melody to marry him. You can't blame him for that. As for taking our ranch, I'm sure he'd do no such thing." "I'll go after him for you," Sydney said. "I'll kill him. Then you can do anything you want."

He'd been quiet so long, and Belle's conversation had been so embarra.s.sing, that Melody had almost forgotten Sydney was at the table.

"I have no objection to your riding with Tom," Belle said, "but you're not to take a gun."

"Then there's no point in going," Sydney said, his enthusiasm turned to sulks.

"None of you seem to understand what I'm saying," Tom said. "Royal intends to have this ranch. He'd prefer to get it through marriage, but he'll take it any way he can." He turned to Melody. "Marry me and let me hold it for you. I'm not afraid to stand up to Royal."

Melody felt cornered. When she'd first arrived in Texas, she'd been confused, disoriented, shocked by the unexpected death of her father. Lantz's attention had been a comfort and a support. She hadn't felt so lost or so helpless when he was around. His proposal of marriage had been as flattering as it was unexpected. It had also seemed like an answer to all her problems.

Melody had come to Texas hoping for a new start, even a new kind of life. She had come to maturity at a time when the destruction caused by the war had given her aunt great freedom and responsibility. For years Melody had shared that freedom and responsibility. But as society recovered and men resumed their usual positions, she found herself being hedged in by social conventions she couldn't accept. She had looked toward the freedom of Texas.

Now she found herself in a place where men respected women even less, gave them even less freedom, and were quite ready to coerce her into marriage against her will. Worse still, they lived by a code of behavior based on guns and violence, a code she found reprehensible.

And now, if she wanted to return to Virginia, she couldn't. She couldn't return to Richmond without money. What little her aunt possessed had gone to her own children. Her half of the Spring Water Ranch comprised Melody's entire inheritance.

"I don't want anybody getting into a fight because of me," she told Tom. "I'd marry Lantz Royal if it would keep people from getting hurt."

"Thank goodness you're finally being sensible," Belle said.

"But it wouldn't," Melody added. "All anybody out here thinks of is guns and fighting and shooting people. Even Sydney wants to be a gunhand. And why not? Mr. Attmore does it for a living, and people look up to him. Lantz and his son bully people, and everybody looks up to them. Now we've got rustlers willing to shoot people so they can steal our cows. Why should I want to stay in a place like this?"

"Melody, you exaggerate. I'm sure Tom didn't mean"

Melody threw down her napkin, pushed back her chair, and stood. "Excuse me."

She left the room as quickly as she could, before she burst into tears. She had suspected for some time that she was caught with no means of escape, but she'd kept telling herself she was mistaken, she'd find a way if she just kept looking. Tom's brutal statement of the truth had ripped that soothing hope to shreds.

She had to face marrying Royal or losing the only inheritance she and her brothers had. She tried to tell herself that marrying Lantz wouldn't be so awful. He was a handsome man and had shown every desire to please her. Belle would have a chance to remarryshe was too young and beautiful to stay a widow longand the boys would have an opportunity to discover there was something more in life than cows and guns.

There was only one good reason to hold out. She didn't love Lantz. No man had ever been able to touch her heart. But if she was going to remain loveless for the rest of her life, why not marry Royal and save herself and her family from ruin?

An image of Chet, even more stunningly blond and handsome in his dress suit, sprang into her mind. No. In reality, it had been there all the time. He was certainly the most attractive man she'd ever met, but she knew nothing about him.

Yet there was something about him that wouldn't let her ignore him. Maybe it was that he seemed to be so completely in control of his life. If he had demons, he'd come to terms with them. If he'd had unrealized ambitions, he'd decided he was better off without them. If doubt and indecision had tormented him, he'd arrived at a state of inner peace.

Or maybe he was so good-looking that she just thought he must have reached a state of near perfection.

No, he was a gunfighter. He depended on his ability to shoot people before they could shoot him.

Yet Melody was sure he was the strongest man she'd ever met. There was no posturing, no covering up for some lack. There simply wasn't any. That didn't seem right when she compared him to Royal. Royal had money, position, and power. This man had nothing. Yet the feeling persisted. She was drawn to Chet, yet was wary, trusting but not able to understand him.

Whatever the source of this feeling, it wouldn't matter after tomorrow. He'd be gone, and she'd be left by herself to decide what to do about Lantz and the ranch. Everybody's future depended on her answer. But the answer they wanted would bind her to a life that looked more and more like bondage to an insensitive bully. Could she agree to that, even to save her family?

"You can't pay any attention to half the stuff Mrs. Jordan says," Tom Neland said as he and Chet headed back toward the bunkhouse. "She doesn't understand about ranching."

"It doesn't matter what I think."

Chet matched his stride to Tom's. He'd seen some silly women before, but never one like Belle. She seemed to think any man would make a good husband as long as he was rich.

"She ought to get married again," Tom said. "Those boys need a father."

"Looks that way."

Chet didn't know about Neill, but it was clear Sydney was headed for trouble unless someone managed to turn him around soon. Not that being named Sydney wasn't a cross to bear in itself. Chet could recall more than one boy who'd had to fight his way through his formative years because of his name.

"I try my best with him, but it's not the same."

"It never is when you're the hired help."

Tom flinched. No man liked to be labeled as inferior. Chet knew that from experience, but Tom was headed for bigger trouble. He didn't lack courage or determination, but he lacked what it took to successfully stand up against a man like Lantz Royal. Tom didn't have the commanding presence to make a troublemaker stop and think, the brains to out-think a man like Royal, or the brash courage to gamble everything on the chance of winning. He'd end up in a fight, and sooner or later somebody would kill him.

"I may be hired help," Tom said with a flash of temper, "but Belle depends on me for everything."

"Miss Jordan strikes me as a young woman who knows her own mind and likes to use it."

"Melody doesn't know anything about ranching either," Tom said. "Besides, she's too much a lady to want to be involved in the day-to-day running of a ranch."

Chet didn't pretend to know much about Miss Melody Jordan, but he was certain Tom Neland knew even less. How could a man think he was in love with a woman when he didn't have the slightest idea what she was like? And how could Melody consider marrying him when she must know he couldn't tell her thoughts from those of a longhorn cow?

Melody held the key to the whole puzzle of Spring Water Ranch, but Chet didn't know which way she would jump. If she did the most logical thing, she'd marry Royal. He seemed fond of her. He might even treat her right most of the time, especially if she knew how to handle him. And Melody struck him as a woman who could handle just about anybody once she set her mind to it.

"You got any preference in horses?" Tom asked.

"Not as long as they're strong and surefooted."

"Look them over and take your pick." "No rush," Chet said. "We can do it in the morning."

It worried him that he wanted Melody to turn Royal and Tom down flat. It worried him even more that he kept playing with the idea of staying around to see how things turned out. It didn't add to his comfort to know he'd already been thinking of what he could do to turn Sydney's mind from guns. Then there was the advice he wanted to give Tom.

n.o.body wanted him to stay. Belle Jordan thought he was a handsome cowhand, but Lantz's money was more important than Chet's looks. Tom Neland just flat wanted to get rid of him. After two run-ins, Sydney probably would prefer to shoot him. Neill, on the other hand, was certain he was a gunslinger.

Melody didn't like gunslingers.

Chet shouldn't be concerned about what she thought of him. He shouldn't be concerned about anything but getting a horse and going on his way. He could too easily become emotionally involved with this woman. That could only cause unhappiness for both of them.

"Then we'd better turn in," Tom said. "We get up early."

"And I have a long way to travel."

But he didn't have a destination.

Melody had told herself she wouldn't get up to see Chet off. He was just a cowboy who'd stopped over for the night. He'd gotten his horse. Now he'd pa.s.s out of her life just as suddenly as he'd entered it.

"I'm sorry to see that one go," Bernice said as she cleared away the breakfast table. "He's such a nice-looking man," Belle said. "He must have come from a good family that has fallen on hard times."

"Maybe," Bernice said, "but some people are born to be gunslingers."

"Why do you say that?" Melody asked.

"It's just a feeling. He didn't say much and he didn't do much, but you knew he was around."

Melody had already figured that out for herself. She had lain awake for hours last night unable to forget that he slept just a short distance away in the bunkhouse. She tried for a long time to understand just why she couldn't ignore him.

There were his looks, of course, but it wasn't simply that he was attractive. When he looked at her, he made her feel attractive, desirable. He made her acutely aware of his physical presence, of her own body. He made her so sensitive that the movement of her clothes against her skin ignited a fire in her body. He was a whole different breed of man than what she was used to. He wasn't Virginia, though he had that smooth charm. He wasn't Texas, though he had the guns and something like metal under his easygoing style. Maybe it was heat. He was like a volcano, slumbering, warm, and inviting, but capable of . . .

But it was still more than that. There was something sensual about his look, about him. His eyes were never quite open. He didn't look quite directly at her, yet somehow he created a feeling of intimacy, of something secret and precious shared. His look almost seemed to reach out and touch her, caress her. It drew her in until she felt enmeshed in a web, drawn close to him whether she wanted to be or not. It gave her chill b.u.mps just to think about it.

Then there was his body. It was impossible to forget that. He wore ordinary clothes, worn and soiled from his journey, but on him they seemed just right. Yet when he changed for dinner, the dark coat, white shirt, and tie seemed just as much a part of him as tight brown pants and tan shirt. He seemed almost too relaxed, his weight resting more on one foot than the other. Self-a.s.sured. Rea.s.suring. Inviting.

And those lips, which seemed made for kissing. And his armsstrong enough to still even the most vigorous female objection.

Melody jerked her thoughts back to the present. Thinking about that man could hypnotize even a strong-minded woman.

"I suppose it's best he's gone," Belle said. "Tom says he made Lantz very angry, and Sydney is still mad at him."

"Lantz is just mad because someone stood up to him," Melody said. "Tom is jealous because he knows Chet is more of a man than he'll ever be, and Sydney's angry because someone finally pulled him up short. It would have done them all good if he had stayed for a month."

"A man like Mr. Attmore isn't one to take orders," Bernice said.

But Spring Water Ranch desperately needed someone who could give the right kind of orders. Melody didn't know what kind that was, but she had reached the conclusion that Tom Neland didn't know either.

"We couldn't have him making Lantz angry," Belle said. "We don't want to discourage his coming over as often as he likes." But Melody found herself even more dissatisfied with Lantz Royal than before, and the possibility of becoming his wife was more grim. Though she had nothing concrete to base it on, she couldn't get rid of the conviction that everything would have been quite different if Chet Attmore had agreed to stay.

Chet didn't like having to leave his horse. Until he could send someone back for it, his borrowed mount would be a continual reminder of the Spring Water Ranch. He wanted to put the last twenty-four hours completely out of his mind. He needed to forget they had ever happened, that there was such a place as the Spring Water Ranch . . . such a woman as Melody Jordan.

He let the buckskin walk at its own pace. It was a beautiful morning, but it would be hotter than a skillet by noon. Some people said central Texas had a beauty and grandeur all its own. To Chet, nothing could equal the Hill Country, the mountains, deep valleys, and rushing streams that made up the home he'd left behind, the home he could never return to.

He'd never had a real home as a child, just a series of cheap hotel rooms. His father had been an outcast from an old Southern family, his mother a barroom songstress. Their pa.s.sion for each other had burned out almost as quickly as it had ignited. His father never said much after his mother ran off, just that she was a wh.o.r.e gone to a wh.o.r.e's reward. Back then, Chet hadn't known what that meant. Now he knew it meant someday she'd die from disease, starvation, or some man's anger.

His father had been a gunfighter with a penchant for high-stakes card games. When his enemies couldn't get him fair, they shot him in the back.

His parents had had nothing to leave their sons but their weaknesses. They'd gotten Luke first, turned him into a gunfighter like their father. Then they carried Chet down the same swift-running stream. That was all the more reason not to get married. No point in raising a third generation of gunfighters. There was only one end for such a man. Chet didn't want to think about what could happen to his daughters. A man taking up a gun was bad enough. But how could a man watch his daughter sell her body?

He didn't know about anybody else, but he couldn't. He'd kill half the population of Texas before he let that happen.

Chet muttered a string of curses. He didn't know why he'd let himself get started thinking along these lines. He'd decided years ago marriage wasn't for him. Now after just a few hours in Melody Jordan's company, he was trying to convince himself he'd made a mistake.

He knew Melody was the reason. He knew himself too well to be mistaken. Long, lonely nights around a campfire or in a hotel room had given him plenty of time to think, to get to know himself. His job had forced him to be brutally honest. There was no room for vanity. That could mean death.

No, he was trying to find a reason for continuing to think of Melody, maybe even to go back and accept her offer of work. But he wasn't a weak man. He could stick to his decisions even when he hated doing so. This was better for him. It was better for everyone else. He turned his attention to the land around him. He'd been told most of it belonged to Lantz Royal. It seemed flat, arid, and colorless compared to Jake's ranch in the Hill Country. No eagles soared, no birds sang, and the cattle grazed the barren land in isolation.

The land seemed empty. That made it all the more unexpected when two men seemed to appear straight out of the ground in front of him.

Chapter Five.

Chet knew immediately there would be trouble.

The riders looked tense, on the prod. There was no avoiding them. He wondered if they had followed him or lain in ambush. A man with a reputation with a gun was always a mark for anyone wishing to build his own reputation. A gunslinger was known by the number and caliber of the men he'd killed. It was a vicious circle. The harder you worked to stay alive, the more someone wanted to kill you. That was why he'd quit. Now he wondered if he'd left it too late.

He let his horse slow to a walk. He recognized one man. Billy Mason. He had a small reputation as a gunhand, more as a hired gun than a gunslick. He was also known to be a petty thief and cattle rustler.

He didn't recognize the other man. He knew he'd never faced anybody that young, but something about him looked familiar. Maybe he was somebody's younger brother.

They stopped about four yards apart.

"Howdy, Billy," Chet said. "I see you're out of jail."

"You didn't tell me you'd been locked up," the young man said to Billy.

"Yeah. I got mixed up with the wrong crowd and got blamed for what they did."

There'd been more than enough evidence to connect Billy to the rustlers, but Chet didn't bother to remind him. "You got a job around here?"

"Yeah. I'm working for the LR Ranch," Billy said.

"I'm not familiar with the ranches in these parts," Chet said.

"You must be familiar with one. You're riding a Spring Water horse."

"I borrowed him," Chet said. "Mine was worn down."

"Tom Neland doesn't lend his horses," the young man said. "I say you must be working for the Spring Water."

"I heard they was short of hands," Billy said. "A gunslick might be just what they was looking for."

The other man suddenly looked alert.

"I'm not working for anybody," Chet said. "But why should you care if I were?"

"We've been having trouble around here," the young man said. "Some from the Spring Water, some from rustlers. I figure if you're not one, you might be the other."

"Who's your friend?" Chet asked Billy.

"Blade Royal," Billy said. "His father owns the LR Ranch." Chet relaxed slightly. So this was the young man who'd developed a crush on Melody only to find she was more likely to become his stepmother than his wife. He couldn't help feeling sorry for the boy. No matter how it worked out, it was bound to be hard on him.

"I met your father yesterday," Chet said.

"You the cowboy who drew on him?"

"He started to draw on me first."